Almost immediately, the German presence was noticeable in town. Tanks drove through our streets. German soldiers patrolled our sidewalks, laughing and clustering in groups, their guns slung over their shoulders. I felt their eyes on me whenever I walked home from school, causing my step to quicken as I rushed by with lowered head. My friends and I stopped talking whenever we passed them, huddling closer together, avoiding their eyes. Most of the time they ignored us, but occasionally I would hear a snicker or a low, derisive whistle. Some of the German soldiers seemed no older than us.
One afternoon on my way home, I passed our neighbor Mr. Applebaum on the sidewalk. “Good afternoon, Sarah,” he said, nodding politely at me. “Any word from Jacob yet?”
“No sir,” I said. “We’re still waiting.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear something soon,” Mr. Applebaum said with a reassuring smile. “And I’m sure he’s just fine.”
“Thank you, Mr. Applebaum.” With a small wave, I began to walk away, but a loud voice snapped, “You! Come here.”
I froze, hugging my schoolbooks to my chest. Slowly, I turned my head to see who had shouted. My cheeks burned. Walking toward me was a young German dressed entirely in uniform, shoulders squared and stiff. I swallowed. Had I done something wrong? I was about to obey and walk to him when I noticed Mr. Applebaum had also paused, looking at the soldier. The German approached Mr. Applebaum and stopped only when he was standing directly in front of the older man.
“Are you a Jew?” the soldier asked in a clipped voice. I flinched when I heard his question.
Mr. Applebaum looked confused. “I am,” he said, nodding carefully.
“What is your name?”
“Eliezer Applebaum.”
“What kind of name is that?” the soldier asked, his lip curling unpleasantly into a sneer.
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Applebaum said politely. “I don’t think I understand your question. It’s my given name.”
“Are you being smart with me?” the soldier snapped.
Mr. Applebaum shook his head. “No sir,” he said, removing his cap and twisting it in his hands nervously.
“Do you know the consequences of speaking so insolently to a member of the Third Reich?” the soldier asked.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Applebaum said in a shaky voice, “did I do something wrong?”
The soldier eyed Mr. Applebaum for a moment in silence, then without a word, he punched Mr. Applebaum in the stomach.
Before I could stop myself, I cried out. The soldier turned to me as if realizing for the first time that I was there. “Get out of here,” he said in a low, cold voice. I began to run before I could think. I ran until I turned the corner and could see the park across the street. I darted into the shade of the tall weeping willows that bordered the lake, breathing heavily as I fell against a tree. I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. My heart thudded against my ribs like a trapped bird. Poor Mr. Applebaum. In the fleeting moments before I had fled, I saw him doubled over, gasping, his face a grimace of shock and pain. And I had run. Like a coward, I had run.
I had to tell someone what had happened. I had to find Mr. Applebaum to make sure he wasn’t hurt. He and his wife lived a few houses down from our own. Their children were grown and had moved to Warsaw and Krakow. Mr. Applebaum attended shul regularly with my father. Mrs. Applebaum brought fresh flowers from her garden to us every spring. I had to make sure he was OK.
I was careful as I walked home to avoid any of the German soldiers. I kept my eyes on the sidewalk and my head bent over my books, hugging the shadows under the eaves of the houses I passed. As I approached my house, I saw our front door was open. Pausing on the path, I thought I heard sobbing from inside. My heart sank even further.
“Mama!” I cried, rushing across the threshold. My whole family was gathered in the center of the room, their arms thrown around each other. “What is it?” I asked desperately. “What’s happened?”
“Oh, Sarah!” my mother cried, turning to me. That’s when I saw Jacob standing between Sam, Isaac, and my father. David and Majer were jumping excitedly next to them.
“Jacob!” I exclaimed, dropping my books and running to my brother. He grabbed me around the waist and spun me in a circle, laughing loudly. “Sarahle !” he said, planting a kiss on the crown of my head. “I’ve missed you!”
“You’re back!” I cried breathlessly, pulling away to look at him. “I can’t believe it! We were so worried when we didn’t hear anything from you!”
“My prayers have been answered,” my mother said, still weeping into a handkerchief. I was relieved to realize they were tears of joy.
“Our unit just returned,” Jacob said. “I couldn’t wait to get home.”
“Are you all right?” I asked, my eyes taking him in hungrily. Dark stubble grew along his jawline and chin. I noticed dirt on his uniform and several gashes in the fabric. His boots were covered in mud.
“I’m fine. I was one of the fortunate ones.”
“You have to tell us all about it.” Sam’s voice was eager, his arm draped around Jacob’s shoulders.
“Give him a moment to catch his breath,” my father scolded, beaming at my brother.
“I’m going to make a big meal!” my mother said, clapping her hands together in joy. “We’ll invite the whole family! We must celebrate this miracle! God has answered our prayers!”
“Mama, please don’t go to any trouble.” Jacob took off his hat and wiped his brow. I saw that his hair was even shorter than before, the curls that usually kissed the tips of his ears now clipped short.
“My son is home! You wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of cooking a proper meal for you, now would you?” my mother asked affectionately, stepping forward and taking the battered suitcase from the floor at Jacob’s feet. “And Helena and her family. We must invite them too. I’m sure you’re eager to see Helena?”
My brother’s face turned red, but he didn’t protest.
“For now, go rest and wash up. I’m sure you must be exhausted. Sarah, go tell your aunt and uncle the wonderful news.”
“Yes, Mama,” I said.
Sam accompanied Jacob to their room as I ran upstairs to my aunt and uncle’s apartment, all thoughts of Mr. Applebaum forgotten.
Later that evening, we all gathered around our dining room table. Wine was poured and glasses touched as a chorus of “L’chaim!” echoed through the room. The laughter was contagious. Gutcha and I sat at one end of the table, giggling as we watched Uncle Abraham grow more and more inebriated. I hadn’t seen my parents so happy in a long time. My mother’s face glowed as she piled Jacob’s plate high with roasted chicken and tzimmes. It felt like a holiday. I was warm and full and happy. Now that Jacob was home, I forgot all about the war.
Helena sat between her parents, stealing glances at Jacob from beneath her eyelashes when she thought no one was looking. But I noticed how they kept meeting each other’s eyes, then quickly looking away. Her face was flushed, and she picked at her food, barely eating a bite.
After the meal had been served and my mother and aunt had begun to clear the table, Sam turned to Jacob. “Well? What was it like, brother? Tell us!”
We all fell silent, staring at Jacob, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked around at everyone and swallowed. A shadow darkened his face, and his eyes grew cloudy. After a moment, he said in a hushed voice, “It was hard, Sam. Hard—and frightening.”
Sam’s smile faded a little as he considered my brother.
“We weren’t prepared,” Jacob explained in a flat tone. “The Germans overwhelmed us. We really didn’t stand a chance.”
“But you weren’t even injured, Jacob,” Sam said proudly. “You must have been brave! Fearless! Shown the Germans we won’t be easily intimidated.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Jacob insisted, turning almost angril
y to Sam. “Listen to what I’m saying, Sam. It was luck, pure luck, I wasn’t hurt. Many of the men in my company died. Most were farmers, not soldiers. Only a few had military training. Most were drafted like me. I saw it all. Men fell at my feet. One minute they were alive, the next they weren’t. The captain of our unit fought at my side and he was killed by gunfire. I was right there, next to him. The bullet could just as easily have hit me. I don’t know why I’m here and he isn’t!”
Jacob’s voice grew in intensity and volume until his final shouted words silenced us all. I stared at my normally gentle, soft-spoken brother and tried to imagine him amid the horror he described. I couldn’t picture it. I didn’t want to picture it. He was surprised at his own fury and shook his head, taking a deep breath. In a softer tone, he said, “I’m sorry, Sam. I know you think fighting is heroic. Little good it did us. And now the Germans have occupied Poland, and what was that loss of life for?”
Sam didn’t answer. For once, he was speechless. He blinked and turned his head from Jacob’s gaze, picking at the edge of the tablecloth. My father cleared his throat and said, “You’re home now. That’s all that matters.”
Then, as though the ugliness of the situation had shaken the memory loose, I remembered Mr. Applebaum.
“Papa,” I said timidly, breaking the silence. “I have something to tell you.”
“What is it, Sarah?” my father asked, looking across the table at me.
“On my way home today, I met Mr. Applebaum in the street. While we were talking, a German soldier came up to us. Papa, he punched Mr. Applebaum. He asked him his name, and then he punched him in the stomach.”
“Sarah!” my mother gasped, rushing to my side and taking my face in her hands. Her eyes searched mine. “Why didn’t you tell us this earlier? Are you all right? Did he hurt you too?”
“No, Mama,” I reassured her. “I’m fine. I—I forgot to mention it. After seeing Jacob, I just forgot.”
“Poor Mr. Applebaum,” my aunt murmured, shaking her head.
“I don’t want you going anywhere by yourself anymore, Sarah. Do you understand?” My mother’s voice was stern, her expression grim.
“It’s true what Sarah says,” my uncle replied, turning to my father. “I’ve heard other reports of things like this happening ever since the Germans showed up. They seem to be targeting Jews. I heard from Nachum that they knocked a bag of groceries from his wife’s arms and laughed as she scrambled to pick it all up. I heard they painted ugly, profane words on the Levines’ shop window. And I read we are to carry papers on us now. We are to register with the police.”
“Yes,” my father nodded. “I read that too.”
“See, Papa?” Sam said, his voice returning. “I warned you this would happen, didn’t I? What’s happened in Germany is going to happen here now. We need to leave Olkusz.”
“Leave Olkusz?” my father said, leaning back in his chair and staring over our heads thoughtfully. “And where would we go, Sam? Our home is here. My business is here. Our synagogue is here. This is where our life is. We can’t just leave, can we?”
“Our families have lived here for generations,” my mother added, sitting back in her seat. “There’s no family anywhere else to take us in.”
“So we stay and wait to see what the Germans are going to do?” Sam asked, exasperated.
“What other choice do we have?” my father said. “We stick together. We are careful about our business. We obey the law. We don’t cause trouble. That way, we’ll be safe until this has all settled down.”
There was silence once more, then we heard Jacob whisper, “I’m just glad to be home.” His eyes met Helena’s again.
“Will you play for us, Jacob?” my mother asked, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “It’s been so long since we’ve heard you play. We need to hear a little something beautiful right now.”
Jacob nodded and retrieved his violin. He lifted it tenderly from its velvet-lined case and cradled it between his shoulder and chin. When he raised the bow and gently caressed the strings, a haunting melody filled the room. It was both stirring and mournful, somehow appropriate for the mood that had settled over us. We listened silently, transfixed. I was overwhelmed by emotion as I watched him become part of the music. Jacob closed his eyes and began to sway, subtly at first, and then in earnest, the dulcet melody sweeping him into a world where only music existed.
Later that evening, as I stood in the yard shaking out Mama’s tablecloth, I heard whispers around the corner of our home. Curiously, I walked toward the sound, but when I recognized Helena’s voice, I paused.
“Why, Jacob? Why should we wait? I missed you so much. It was so hard not seeing you, wondering what was happening, wondering if you were safe. All I want is for us to be together.”
I froze, torn between my conscience and my curiosity. I knew I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but some stronger part of me wanted to hear what they were saying. My brother sighed and spoke in a low voice. “Helena, you know how I feel about you. But there is a war on. I don’t know what is going to happen. I want us to be married when our future is certain. It feels like an omen to marry now.”
“I don’t believe in omens,” Helena insisted.
Jacob gave a soft moan. “You know I want to be with you too, Helena. I want it more than anything.”
His words were followed by a silence that seemed to last too long. I shifted, wondering what was happening. My curiosity finally won out, and I tiptoed forward, peeking around the corner.
Jacob had his arms around Helena in a close embrace. Her head was lifted to his. She sighed as his mouth moved over her lips and along her jaw and down her neck. His hands ran down her back as hers entwined in his short hair. I gasped and fell back against the wall, my heart thundering in my chest. I clapped my hand over my mouth, afraid they had heard, afraid that at any moment they would turn the corner and I’d be discovered.
I couldn’t believe what I’d seen. I had only ever guessed at that kind of passion, at what it felt like to surrender to such desire. I had never even seen my parents embrace like that. I had always been told it was wrong, that after a certain age, a man and a woman shouldn’t touch unless they were married. I felt embarrassed and strangely exhilarated. I stood rooted to the spot, listening to the soft sounds they made, wanting to peek again but at the same time wanting to run away. Then I heard a choked cry and Helena said, “Jacob, no. We shouldn’t do this. It isn’t right.”
I stepped away from the wall when I heard hurried footsteps approaching and began shaking out the tablecloth, pretending I hadn’t seen or heard anything. Helena came around the corner. She glanced at me in her rush and tried to smile, but she couldn’t hide the tears that stood out in the corners of her eyes.
Eleven
Olkusz, Poland, July 31, 1940
The knock came in the early hours of dawn. Like a rude shake, it pulled me unceremoniously from sleep. My mother’s face swam before me as I blinked in the dim light. Majer was sleeping in her arms. David held on to her skirt, his thumb in his mouth. “Sarah,” she said urgently. “Wake up!”
“What’s happening,” I murmured, looking up at her frightened face.
“Stay in here,” she whispered, laying the twins in bed beside me and pulling her shawl around her shoulders. “Whatever you do, stay in here with the twins and stay quiet. Stay hidden.”
David and Majer whined as they crawled into my lap. My mother quickly kissed each of our foreheads then stepped into the main room, pulling the curtains closed behind her.
“Öffnen Sie die Tür !” The command was shouted from outside our front door. “Open the door!”
I had just turned fifteen, and in the ten months since the Germans had occupied Olkusz, I’d witnessed their brutality and cruelty grow bolder with each passing day. Panicking, I grabbed the twins’ hands and fled to a corner of the alcove, pulling them with me
. They whimpered as their little arms hugged me close, curling tightly around me in fear. I tried to squeeze as much reassurance as I could muster into their trembling bodies. “It’s all right,” I whispered. “We just need to be quiet now, OK?”
They nodded, staring up at me with large, solemn eyes. “Good,” I said. “Think of this as a game, like hide and seek.” They nodded again. I heard movement in the main room and my parents’ urgent whispers. The knocking became a pounding on the door. The twins jumped. Despite my better judgment, I told them to remain where they were and crawled forward to peer out into the main room, making sure to stay hidden at the same time.
My father waved my mother behind him, unlatched the chain, and opened the door a few inches. It was thrust open completely by a black boot.
“Papers,” a voice barked. The soldier who filled the doorway was dark and faceless. All I could see from my corner was the sign of the swastika emblazoned on the arm of his uniform, and the letters SS.
“Please,” my father beseeched, fumbling inside his pajama pocket for the papers he kept close at hand. Please, please, please—a word I would hear over and over, in prayer, in appeal. “Please, we’ve done nothing.”
Then the butt of a gun slammed against my father’s face. I felt all the air leave me and I wilted against the wall. My brothers cried out, but I waved them behind me, my finger to my lips. “Papa!” I heard a voice exclaim, and I turned back to see Jacob, Sam, and Isaac rush out of their own room. My father stood holding his bearded cheek, shocked into silence and submission. The soldier who crowded the doorway now stepped into the small room. He was tall and dressed head to toe in the SS uniform, his menacing presence pervading our crowded living room. “Papers,” he said again, and this time there was no pleading or arguing. Papers were presented.
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